Chapter 17

Seventeen

Sunday, April 19

On the quietest day of the week, there arose an uproar in the rector's home.

"But, my dear wife!" Flapping his wide-brimmed hat against his thigh, Mr Collins paced—if it could be called that—in mincing little steps. "Such shocking transgressions simply must be addressed in this morning's sermon."

Standing between her cousin and his wife, Elizabeth watched and listened as the previous evening's discord continued, her bonneted head turning one way then the other.

The lady of the house, also in pelisse and bonnet, calmly replied, "Having received Lady Catherine's approval of today's homily, you must not risk her displeasure by altering it now. Nor should you risk her indignation at having her misfortunes made public. She has not informed us of the situation and must wish it kept secret. Besides, it is merely hearsay."

"But I have heard the rumour from three unconnected sources. The thief or thieves responsible must be made to feel guilt and remorse and to make appropriate reparations." Sitting while the ladies stood, Mr Collins wiped his brow. "What a quandary! I dare not act in such a way as to incur the wrath of my patroness, however?—"

Elizabeth consulted the mantel clock. "If I may interject, you certainly shall incur her ladyship's wrath if you dilly-dally much longer."

Her cousin's eyes grew wide as he confirmed the hour. Scrambling to his feet, he gave his wife a disapproving look. "My dear, you could have said so. Lady Catherine greatly objects to unpunctuality, and I shall never forgive myself if I have made her ladyship wait."

They reached the church with seconds to spare and to a nave packed with the faithful.

It seemed some, if not all, of Rosings Park's houseguests had arrived. With heels raised and weight upon the balls of her feet, Elizabeth quietly followed Mrs Collins, edging towards their assigned pew and feeling the disapproving eyes of not only Lady Catherine but the entire congregation upon her. Sliding across the highly polished wooden seat, she bowed her head and, beneath her brim, sought the one person she most wanted to see . The one who did not call on me yesterday. Notwithstanding that lapse, she felt somewhat appeased upon discovering his unwavering gaze fixed upon her, and she wondered what his deep blue eyes were trying to say.

Turning her attention to the assemblage, she noticed other rapt female eyes, young and old alike, resting not upon the perspiring rector but upon Mr Darcy's fine person.

His intense regard, however, had not strayed.

In the churchyard, while chatting with Mrs Jenkinson, Elizabeth watched Mr Darcy walk towards her. On his left arm was his cousin, on his right another young lady.

Despite being summoned by Lady Catherine, Anne simply gave her mother an acknowledging wave before leaving the other two behind, rushing forwards, and grasping Elizabeth's hands.

"Good day, my friend. I must not linger. Her ladyship grows increasingly restive and impatient. But Dubois has something for you, and she is just over there." Anne pointed out her maid's location. "Remember to fetch it before leaving. I am so looking forward to tomorrow evening!" She gave Elizabeth's fingers a squeeze. "Until then."

Mr Darcy then stepped forwards and bowed. "Miss Bennet, may I introduce to you Miss Harriet Roche of Brier Lodge in Westerham and currently a guest at Rosings. Miss Roche, it is my great pleasure to present to you Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire. She is a guest at Hunsford parsonage."

The two ladies curtseyed and voiced all the civilities and courtesies expected of genteel people, all the while assessing one another. At least Miss Roche was being judged, and she was found to possess a remarkable combination of symmetry, intelligence, and elegance. Elizabeth wanted to like her. And I would like her…if she would just stop holding onto Mr Darcy's arm in the same manner my little cousin Michael holds onto his well-loved blanket.

Mr Collins, lurking nearby, also seemed eager for Mr Darcy's attention, and Elizabeth feared he might introduce the rumour of Rosings Park's purported vandalism or theft.

When her cousin sidled up, bowing and scraping as was his obsequious wont, Mr Darcy curtly made the necessary introductions before saying, "Would you three please excuse Miss Bennet and me for a moment?" Without awaiting an answer, the gentleman bowed and removed Miss Roche's hand from his arm and replaced it with Elizabeth's.

"How I have missed you," he whispered, as they moved away. "Shall we walk the churchyard's perimeter, pretending we have some particular destination in mind, someone with whom we are desperate to speak? Just keep moving and smiling."

"Conveniently, I do have a destination, sir. Dubois has something for me."

"So be it." His gloved hand briefly and discreetly covered hers. "I longed to call on you yesterday, but Lady Catherine kept me busy greeting houseguests. But enough of that. Are you well?" Beneath the lichgate, he stopped and stood before her. "Judging by that charming smile I so admire, I trust you are very well." His dimple made another rare appearance while he and Elizabeth gazed into one another's eyes.

"Nephew!"

She could not be sure, but Elizabeth thought Mr Darcy flinched. Beneath her fingers, she had felt the twitch of an arm muscle.

"Watch your step, young man!" The point of Lady Catherine's walking stick came perilously close to the gentleman's booted toes.

Letting go of his arm, Elizabeth surveyed the ground, expecting to discover a gaping chasm nearby or, at the very least, an angry adder, but the only evident danger appeared to be that pointy stick and the pointed look in Lady Catherine's eyes.

"Miss Bennet, it seems you are capable of leading astray not only my daughter but her intended as well." Her ladyship's chin was up, her neck exposed. "And as for you, Darcy, Anne and our houseguests await. Come now. I shall brook no opposition."

Squaring his shoulders, Mr Darcy spoke in a clipped tone. "I assure you, Miss Bennet has led no one astray. I shall be along directly, after I escort this decent, lovely lady to the parsonage. You may make my excuses to the others."

Lady Catherine huffed and walked away, nose in the air.

Elizabeth could not refrain from saying under her breath, "With her head held so high, Lady Catherine should be warned to watch her step."

Laughing aloud, Mr Darcy took up Elizabeth's hand, and she was certain he was going to kiss her gloved knuckles. Instead, he peeled back the cuff of her pelisse and brazenly placed his lips upon her wrist, and there they lingered until a feminine throat was cleared.

"It seems I am not the only one who has something for you, mademoiselle," said Dubois, grinning. She winked, handed the valise to Elizabeth, and turned away.

Face and neck flushed, Elizabeth fought an overwhelming desire to drop the bag and embrace her defender, the inimitable gentleman whose lips had lingered on her pulse, a kiss felt not only upon her wrist but in her heart.

"Clever lady," he said, watching Dubois walk away.

"Oh yes." Elizabeth nodded. "I quite like your cousin's maid."

"And me?" Mr Darcy stood close, very close, eyes only for her, the toes of his boots kissing hers. "Do you, perhaps, like me , even a little?"

Unbalanced, the scale of approbation had tipped heavily in his favour. "No, Mr Darcy." Elizabeth shook her head but leant in, smiling into his eyes. "I definitely do not like you a little ."

After accompanying Elizabeth to the parsonage, Mr Darcy stood at the door, seemingly transfixed, eyes resting on her face with a remarkable expression of tender solicitude. "I do not like you a little either, Miss Bennet." He winked at her, then bowed over her hand. "Until tomorrow evening, madam."

Basking in the warmth of his affection, she watched until he vanished from view.

Eager then to discover whatever alterations Dubois had made to her gown, Elizabeth spent a few moments in polite conversation with Mr and Mrs Collins before inviting the latter to join her above stairs. Dashing up to her bedchamber while her friend followed more sedately, she opened the valise, withdrew the folded garment, and shook it free.

The lady of the house stood in the doorway, hands clasped beneath her chin. "Oh, how lovely! Is that the ivory gown you wore to the ball at Netherfield?"

"Yes. Yet it is not at all the same." Elizabeth held the garment against herself. "How does it look on me?"

Mrs Collins sat on the bed, reverently touching the blond gossamer netting. "As you know, I am not romantic and never was, but mark my words, tomorrow night you and that sumptuous garment will tug at Mr Darcy's heartstrings so strongly he will cleave to you and never let go."